


Drinking Deeply of Love

by abigail89



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Other, Sexual Content, Swearing, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-11
Updated: 2011-11-11
Packaged: 2017-10-26 00:24:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/276517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abigail89/pseuds/abigail89
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Minerva McGonagall shows Poppy Pomfrey the trio’s sexual history when a <i>Daily Prophet</i> article exposes them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Drinking Deeply of Love

**Author's Note:**

> Betaed by the incomparable [](http://magicofisis.livejournal.com/profile)[**magicofisis**](http://magicofisis.livejournal.com/) and [](http://annearchy.livejournal.com/profile)[**annearchy**](http://annearchy.livejournal.com/) who don't let me get away with anything. Many, many thanks for their talents and honesty. It's a much better story because of them. All mistakes and stupidity, however, remain mine aloneWritten for the 2005 TrioFQF on LJ.

*~*

  
“Ready for another, Minerva?”

Minerva McGonagall, Headmistress of Hogwarts and Professor of Transfiguration, held out the crystal stemmed cocktail glass to her companion, who poured a pink liquid from a sweating pitcher. She sighed as she took a delicate sip of the frosty drink.

“What is this beverage called again?” she asked contentedly.

“Cosmopolitan,” answered Madam Poppy Pomfrey, mediwitch and, tonight, bartender. She had, after all, taken second in her class in potions. “Vodka, triple sec, cranberry juice, and a touch of lime, just to make it interesting. I found it in this.” She handed Minerva a small book, Muggle Drinks for the Sophisticated Palate and How to Make Them. “I had to have Aber—er, um…the barman at the Hog’s Head send his boy—you know, that Muggleborn assistant of his—get the cranberry juice from the Muggle market for me. I tried it with some of our juices but it just wasn’t the same.”

“Ahhh…” Minvera raised one eyebrow.

Poppy cleared her throat, and leant over to take the book away. “Yes, well. Aberforth is lovely that way. He owes me for fixing him any number of times after he’s broken up fights at the bar.“ Clearly flustered, the mediwitch made a production of stuffing the book back inside a bag.

“I see,” the headmistress said knowingly. She knew Poppy often kept company with Aberforth Dumbledore, and not just medically speaking, and she knew that Poppy knew but didn’t want to talk about or acknowledge the fact that Minerva knew. “Lovely of him to assist you in purchasing Muggle items. Worth it, don’t you think?”

That seemed to bleed the tension out of the air. The two relaxed as the Cosmopolitans seeped into their bodies, the vodka performing finger-like massages to taut muscles and minds. Minerva reached up and released her hair from its tight bun, shaking the curling wave of silvery tresses and allowing it to flow down the back of her comfortable rocking chair. Poppy kicked off her shoes and wiggled her toes. Robes and matron’s cap had been discarded long before they settled themselves on the canopied veranda that jutted off of Minvera’s private quarters on the south side of the castle overlooking the lake, a veranda that was cleverly camouflaged from prying students’ eyes. The golden sun of a late August afternoon lazily floated across the azure sky; below, the lake rippled, diamond-bright, as the giant squid swished its tentacles on the surface. It waved at them.

“He seems a bit sad, doesn’t he?”

”Oh, he’s always a bit melancholy about this time of the summer. I think he misses the students.”

“Perhaps. But he seems especially blue since Mr. Weasley left school. Poor thing hasn’t been the same since.”

“Pity, that.”

The air grew thick with meaning as their thoughts settled on the lanky Ron Weasley and [the events of one afternoon in October.](http://www.livejournal.com/users/squidlytales/3606.html#cutid1/)

The mention of Ronald Weasley immediately brought to mind the image of Harry Potter, the tragedy-prone boy she had grown so fond of during his years at the school and his unfathomable bravery, and that of the equally talented Hermione Granger, who was steadfastly loyal to both boys. Poppy was certain that without her discipline and work ethic (and willingness to share her schoolwork) Harry and Ron would have flunked out of school. Then, she remembered something else, something she had read about the two. “Is it true?” Poppy asked, leaning over to retrieve the pitcher and pour herself another.

“What?” Minerva drank deeply.

“What the _Prophet_ wrote last week.” She knew Minerva was screwing with her.

The headmistress shifted. Poppy eyed her friend whilst sipping.

A handful of heartbeats passed before Minerva took another long, deep swig, draining the glass, and held it out, silently demanding a refill. Another long moment passed as Minerva thoughtfully, carefully, drank. Poppy whiled the time away with her own drink; she knew she’d be rewarded for her patience eventually.

“How well do you know them?” Minerva eventually asked.

Poppy swirled the dregs in her glass. “Probably as well as you do. Harry spent a great deal of time in the infirmary during his time here. Such a lovely, sweet boy. Always grateful for my attentions. Not many students thanked me for my care or medical skills, but Harry always did.” She drank the rest of her Cosmo. “Ron and Hermione were always so devoted to him. To think I scolded her once for questioning whether I treating his injuries aggressively enough after he returned from that dreadful encounter with...You-Know...no, Voldemort”—she shuddered—“during the Triwizard Tournament. He was so fragile emotionally during that time, he hardly rested at all.” Her eyes grew misty. “And after Hermione and Ron were injured in their fifth year, I could hardly be rid of him whilst they were in my care. I finally allowed him to sleep next to them one night, he was so tired and worried, the poor lamb.” She looked down into the depths of the empty glass. “I always knew the waters of their friendship ran deep. I just did not figure they would be as the _Prophet_ described. So, I ask again, is it true?”

Without a word, the Headmistress of Hogwarts rose from her chair, swayed ever so slightly, and strolled into her living quarters. The Mediwitch of Hogwarts followed quickly. They walked through the comfortable rooms to a smaller one, one that held a desk, three walls lined with shelves that were populated with books and figurines and crystal orbs (much to Poppy’s surprise-- _didn’t Minerva think divination was foolishness?_ ); in the middle of the room sat a magnificent round oak table with ornately carved clawed footings and ribs. On it was placed a Pensieve and what appeared to be a half of a large onyx stone in a pool of water.

Minerva stopped in front of the Pensieve and looked into it meaningfully. She looked as if she was considering not saying anything, but then steeled her face.

“I never thought I would ever have to deal with those memories,” she said softly, so softly that the matron could hardly hear her. “They are precious in their own right, love blossoming so sweetly and gradually. It was like watching a rare flower unfold over many years. But in my heart, I thought that it would just eventually wither away, like so many of school liaisons in the past have.” Her face hardened. “I still cannot believe the fools at the _Prophet_ would print such salaciousness about three young people who risked their lives to save our world from that madman. It makes me ill that their privacy and their love would be exposed and blathered over and made to seem perverse and wrong.”

She straightened and looked straight at Pomfrey. “I have never betrayed the confidences of my office as Head of House nor that of Headmistress. I have never abused the rights and privileges afforded to me in either status, though I have, on occasion, taken it upon myself to…counsel those in my care about behaviors that I felt would lead them down a road towards darkness or personal ruination.”

“Of course, Minerva,” Poppy hastily reassured her, though not knowing what she was talking about.

“I removed the memories because I wanted to answer that…that _evil_ woman’s questions truthfully, not because I was ashamed of what I saw, but because I wanted to protect them and the school. I hope Rita Skeeter burns in the lowest depth of hell for all of eternity for what she has done.” Minerva’s bloodless lips underscored her scorn and bitterness; Poppy made a solemn vow to never, ever cross Minerva McGonagall. “However, I want to show you because I want you to know that I have always believed their love was very special.”

She turned and pointed her wand at a small wooden box on the shelf loaded with large leather-bound tomes. With a series of complex wand squiggles and an unuttered spell, the box grew to a very large size, and the doors popped open soundlessly. Minerva arched an eyebrow at her companion and open the doors fully, revealing shelves full of small crystal phials; she reached into the middle of the top shelf, moving several groups of the phials carefully to the side. After a moment of rummaging, she extracted several.

“Now, Poppy,” she said quietly, “what I am going to reveal must never be told to anyone else as long as you live. These memories were obtained in the course of my duty as the Headmistress of Hogwarts and as the Head of Gryffindor House. To betray this confidence carries grave consequences, and I do not do this lightly. Swear to me you will not tell anyone what I am about to show you.”

“Yes, of course.” Poppy would’ve sworn to give her first born—if she had one—at that moment. The suspense was killing her. “Minerva, if you wish to _Obliviate_ me afterwards, if it will make you feel more at ease, I give you my permission.”

Minerva considered her words, and then smiled at her dear friend. “We’ll discuss it later, perhaps, after you’ve seen and understood.”

She then turned her attention to the task at hand: she uncorked three of the small phials carefully and poured the contents into the silvery liquid of the stone basin. “We shall first see three memories that are most extraordinary for the. . . .” She paused, unable—or unwilling—to form the next word. “Well, you’ll see what I mean. Then we’ll exit the Pensieve. I believe we shall need another drink before continuing. Are you ready?”

Poppy had her wand at the ready. “Yes, I think so.” She gripped it tightly, not wanting to miss a single nanosecond of what Minerva was about to share with her.

“Then let’s go.” Joining hands, the two women leant over; Poppy touched the surface with her nose, and tumbled through the dark, swooping nothingness and landed in the…library.

It was dark, and no one was about. They moved through the stacks towards the back where there was but one table; the lights had been extinguished, save one in a far corner. In the darkness, Poppy could just make out some bodies; then, she gasped when she realized there were three _naked_ bodies. Well, not totally naked; a robe, a Gryffindor House robe, had been thrown over them. Walking closer, she realized she was looking at a tangle of four—no, six legs on top of the library table; several books lay scattered on the floor.

The scene before her was absolutely scandalous. How on earth Irma could allow such behaviour was beyond her, but Poppy was certain that it was after curfew and on a weekend, owing to the lack of any other human presence. Coming closer, she then recognized the hair on the writhing heads: bushy brown, messy black, and curling red—why, it was them! All three of them, together, in the library, and—oh my!—snogging each other breathless! Hermione Granger was laid out on her back, Harry Potter looked as if he was performing dental surgery with his tongue on her, and Ronald Weasley…he was doing unbelievable things to that girl’s breasts—heavens! Didn’t that hurt when he used his teeth? Obviously not, because her back arched and she moaned loudly.

Harry drew back. “I think she liked that, Ron. Do it again.” And whatever Ron was doing, he did it again, and she moaned and arched again, and Harry said, “Brilliant.” And he dove into her mouth again, one of her hands grabbing his hair….

The memory faded into black as they moved to another one, this time in a small room, which one, Poppy could not say. But it was brighter, but just so, possibly at daybreak. As they moved into the room, she saw a pile of blankets—no, a mattress and a large pile of blankets—and a lot of squealing and giggling. Heavens, they were at it again! As the light grew brighter, Poppy saw—

Hermione was on top of—must be the Weasley boy, because—Great Merlin’s beard!—Harry Potter emerged fully naked from under the blankets.

“Are you ready?” he said softly to the bouncing Hermione.

“She’s ready, just get in already,” came Ron’s voice.

Hermione’s eyes were closed, she was breathing rapidly. “God, Harry, now. Do it now.”

Harry’s fully erect cock _Dear me, I just looked at Harry’s erect penis!_ was dripping with a clear jelly substance ( _Who taught these children to make that?? I shall have to speak with the staff about restricting the medical texts as well._ ) as he moved behind Hermione. She stopped bouncing, and gently lifted her arse towards him.

“Hey, I’m out,” Ron protested. A moment of nervous giggles and an “Oh, sorry” and some moving around and then Ron’s voice sighed, “Much better.”

Harry rubbed his slicked cock into the crease of Hermione’s arse. She remained still. “Oh my, that’s so good,” she breathed. “Oh yes, that’s amazing. Do you…do you think you can go in?”

“I think…so,” he said. Poppy watched as the boy positioned himself lower and directed his cock to her entrance. “Is that it?”

“Yes, push easily,” Hermione said quietly. Ron lifted his arms for her to steady herself on, and Harry reached around and pushed on her pelvis. “Yesssss,” she suddenly hissed. “Wait…don’t move. Give me a second.”

Harry looked like he was about to pass out—his eyes were closed and he put his head on Hermione’s shoulder, still not fully inside the girl’s body. “Now, I’m ready,” Hermione suddenly said. “Do it now.”

Harry kissed her neck. “You sure? I don’t want to hurt you, love.” He put his other arm around her, hugging her closely.

“Harry, it’s now or never,” she gritted.

And with that, Harry pushed in again, letting out a strangled, “Oh, oh, ohohHer—my—o-neee,” before gently rocking in and out. Hermione carefully started to rock up and down again, and it seemed the three found an acceptable rhythm as there were numerous gasps and then one of them—-Poppy wasn’t sure, but she moved closer to see if she could tell which one-- was exclaiming in pain or ecstasy. Then, Harry cried in that strangled voice, “Oh god. . . .”

And the scene faded. Wildly disappointed, Poppy looked at Minerva, who was fanning herself and had gone a bit red in the face. Another memory rose up at that second that took them to the familiar red and gold of the Gryffindor common room. The dying fire threw off just enough light to reveal the three asleep on the carpet; sofa cushions all around made them a comfortable camping spot. A pile of books and parchments and robes, shoes and neckties gave evidence of a late night studying session. The memory took Poppy around the three: Hermione sleeping in Harry’s arms who was cradled in Ron’s arms who was propped up on two cushions. Harry shifted, causing Hermione to wake enough to give him a kiss and remove his glasses; Ron also took the opportunity to throw a leg over Harry and then kiss the boy as well. They settled into sleep. Poppy wondered how Harry could sleep wrapped up so tightly between the two.

Minerva took Poppy’s hand and pointed up. They soared back into the office, now dim in the deepening twilight. For a moment neither spoke.

“How did? . . .Minerva, how dare you? . . .just—when. . . how could you?” Poppy finished, her voice full of equal parts outrage and curiosity.

“The castle does indeed have eyes, Poppy,” Minerva said, staggering slightly as she fell into a red Queen Anne chair nearby. She waved her hand, indicating that Poppy should find a seat as well. “Did you ever wonder how we keep a close watch on the students without actually living in the houses themselves?”

“Well that’s something that I’ve never been privy to, not having house responsibilities, after all.” Poppy tried to keep the starch out of her voice.

“The stone in the other basin on the table is a scrying stone. It allows me to monitor all the areas of the castle without actually having to go there. The Founders created this system so that they wouldn’t have to live in the houses with the students or hire house parents.”

Poppy tsked. “I’ve always been quite scandalized that responsible adults aren’t closer by in the houses to guide the children and prevent bullying and such”—she waved her hand limply in front of her—“outrageous sexual behaviour. It’s a wonder there haven’t been more pregnancies and diseases and such. Why on earth didn’t you stop them?? It says most clearly in the student handbook that no sexual activity may take place anywhere on school property. As head of the school. . . ”

“Yes, it is most certainly within my purview to end sexual activity between students. I am well aware of it, as I always have been since I became Head of Gryffindor House in my third year of teaching here, some forty years ago.” Minerva looked almost put out as she smoothed back an errant strand of hair from her face ( _she really is quite fetching with her hair down_ , Poppy thought randomly.) Suddenly, the older woman looked down and clasped her hands, as if to stop them from shaking. “I just didn’t have the heart to stop them. They. . .they just seemed to need. . .they seemed to take such comfort and pleasure from being together--like that.”

She rose from her chair and walked slowly around the room, touching the books that sat elegantly upon the shelves. “There’s so much you haven’t seen, things that would explain better why I could not stop them. They all have suffered so much in their short lives, especially Harry. You know the boy was never loved by his relatives, not like he should have been.” Minerva turned toward the Pensieve, staring into its swirling depths. “So when he was being loved so thoroughly by Ron and Hermione, he was so happy and content, as they were. And even I understood what that meant to him.”

Minerva shook her head, breaking her reverie. “And that is why. So yes, I made an exception to a long-standing Hogwarts rule. I hope the Founders will forgive me,” she said.

“Minerva, I never meant to question your reasons or your authority,” Poppy said, going to her and laying a hand on her arm. “You’re correct, I don’t know all the nuances of their relationship and obviously you had good reason to depart from school policy. I apologize if I stepped out of my place.”

“No, dear, it’s fine,” Minerva replied, patting the other woman’s hand. She sighed. “I suppose you would like to continue?”

Poppy knew that saying “No” was the right thing, but she was insatiably curious to see more of the memories Minerva had gathered. And since Minerva seemed willing to share, who was she to deny her dear friend the opportunity?

“Of course,” she replied, a concerned look on her face.

“But before we continue, I simply must have a drink.”

The matron never moved so fast in her life. The pitcher refilled in record time, and glasses were refreshed. Minerva drank, as did Poppy.

“You know, Poppy,” Minerva said after finishing off yet another drink, “I believe you make these as well as Aberforth.”

“Yes, he was quite a good tutor when I was going through Potions,” Poppy said, before she realized what she was saying. _Oh, sod it all._ “You would adore his ‘Screaming Orgasm’. I know I do.”

Minerva didn’t even bat an eye. “I’m sure, in more ways than one. Now, let me see…”

She turned to the cabinet once again and selected four phials, one considerably larger than the others. “This last one may explain more as to what that evil bitch Skeeter was on about.” Minerva snorted. “As if we should ever condemn anyone for whom they love.”

The contents of the phials made shimmering puddles in the stone basin. “The first three will be rather quick, and the last is very long,” she explained. “Shall we?”

They tumbled back through the darkness and into the familiar Gryffindor common room. Hermione was seated at what appeared to be a U-shaped table that was stacked full of books, parchment rolls, and piles of individual sheaths. She was writing furiously. Harry and Ron walked up and talked to her quietly. She shook her head, and the boys looked at each other and sighed. They both leant over and kissed her on the top of her head, and took the stairs to the their dormitories. Hermione never looked up.

The scene faded and another appeared, this time Ron and Harry were tickling Hermione, who was still behind her fortress of books and study.

“Come ON, Hermione,” Ron pleaded. “It’s time to stop studying. It’s been ages.”

“Please come with us.” Harry had gone round behind her and was hugging her. “Please come make love with us.”

“I am too busy. I really have to finished revising year five’s notes in Transfiguration,” she said, lifting Harry’s hand from inside her jumper and placing it on the table. “You two go have fun.”

“Hermione!”

“No. Go away.”

The boys looked at her and then each other. They left the room, and Hermione was still busily scribbling away.

Poppy looked at Minerva, whose eyes had narrowed. “Sometimes there’s such a thing as too much devotion to one’s studies,” the headmistress said quietly. “I remember she was brittle and on edge for the entire last few months before the exams.”

The memory ended, and once again, there was an image of Hermione, this time with Ron alone trying to get her to end her incessant revision. Instead of looking sad, the boy stomped up the dormitory steps. The memory followed him into the boys’ dorm where Harry was found sitting on his bed, a pile of books at the foot, and two in his lap. He was in pyjamas and had wet hair, obviously doing a little revising of his own after a shower.

“Not you too,” Ron huffed, as he bounced down onto Harry’s bed.

“Hermione still at it?” he asked vaguely, turning a page.

“Yes, and I can’t believe you’re are, too. Harry, you’ve been reading all day.”

“Hey, we have exams too, you know. I don’t know about you, but I’d like to at least give the impression that I showed up for classes this year.” Harry continued to read while Ron sulked. They went on like this for a couple more minutes, when Harry shut the book with a bang. “Ron, really, what’s eating you?”

“Nothing,” the other boy muttered. He laid back on the bed and blew an exasperated breath. Then he said, “I miss it. I miss being with you and Hermione. I don’t think it’s all about the sex; of course, it could be all about the sex, and I’m missing that; of course, I am missing the sex, I mean, I’m sorta jumpy and horny and edgy and all. But mostly, I think, I just miss being. . .close to someone else; yeah, I miss that too.” He said all of this very quickly.

“I know; I miss it too. All of it.” Harry got up and gathered all the books off the bed. “Are you ready for bed, ‘cause if you are, you know, you can, well, you know, sleep here.” He was back under the covers. “We can snuggle, just like Hermione likes to do with us.” He opened the covers a little. “Except without Hermione. It’ll be all right.”

Ron slowly got ready for bed, taking his time in the bathroom and straightening his bed. Harry had lain back, pulling the curtains forward slightly. His eyes were closed.

“Harry?”

“Hmm?”

“Is it really all right for me to sleep here?”

Without a word, Harry pulled back the covers and budged over. Ron doused the light—all the other boys were long asleep—and threw his pillow next to Harry’s, crawling in. He rolled over on his side, his back to Harry’s chest. Harry threw his arm over Ron’s considerably larger frame.

The memory moved closer.

“Is this okay?” one of the boys whispered.

“Yeah, it’s good.”

“G’night.”

Once again, the scene before them faded, and then reappeared, taking the women to the library. Harry and Hermione were at the far table behind the stacks—the table they had claimed as a trysting spot. It was late again. Ron was nowhere in sight.

Harry was reading, but was obviously finishing up. He stacked his books and parchments and shoved them into a bag. “Come on. Ron is up in the Room of Requirement already.”

“I’m not going.”

“What? Hermione, you promised. You said that if we studied today, we could all be together tonight. It’s Friday night.” He was a bit indignant.

“I haven’t gotten nearly enough work done in Arithmancy. I really need to parse this text and review three chapters before I go to bed.” She turned a page, and began writing a string of letters and numbers; she reached for a dictionary, and looked up at him. “I’m sorry, but with exams starting in two days, I really need to do this.”

“And we really need to be together. It’s been weeks since we’ve seen you except when eating or revising,” he pleaded. “We love you, Hermione.”

Poppy saw a wistful, sweet look wash across the young woman’s face, but just for an instant. Just as quickly, it vanished, and her face assumed its determined look.

“No, I can’t.”

“Hermione,” Harry whinged. “Please?”

“No, you and Ron have fun without me.”

Harry swung the bag over his shoulder and strode away from the girl. His face was equally sad and furious. He nearly ran over a younger female student in his haste to get away; she looked scared at being knocked into by the older student.

Once outside the library, he stopped several yards away and slumped against the wall, taking several deep, calming breaths. He stood there with his eyes closed, head back for several minutes. Finally, from down the hall came Ron Weasley.

“Harry, what are you doing?”

“Nothing, just standing here,” Harry replied quietly. “She won’t come.”

“What? She promised.”

“Yeah, well, once she has her mind made up, you know how she is.”

“I swear, Harry, I’m going in there, and I going to drag her out by her hair.” Ron moved towards the main doors.

“No, don’t,” Harry grabbed Ron’s wrist. “Look, she’s stressed over Arithmancy. She wouldn’t be able to let it go even if you were able to get past the hexes.”

A long moment passed. The boys stood in the deserted hall, Harry still holding Ron’s wrist. One moved closer to the other, or maybe they both moved, until Harry’s head was on Ron’s shoulder and their fingers intertwined. Ron said something very softly, and Poppy saw Harry nod his head slowly, almost as if he was rubbing it against the other boy’s shoulder in comfort.

Then, he lifted his head, and smiled. “She did say to have fun without her.”

Ron gave Harry a startled look. “Are you…are you ready to try it?”

Harry shrugged. “I reckon if you are.”

Poppy observed that Ronald Weasley’s face melted into bliss. “I am. I have. For a long time. Because you know”—he leaned in close to Harry’s ear and whispered, “I think you’re brilliant.”

Harry blushed. “I think you are too.”

Without a word, Ron whirled about, pulling Harry along behind him, the shorter boy nearly trotting to keep up with Ron’s long stride. Minerva’s eyes followed them up several flights of stairs to the seventh floor. Ron dropped Harry’s hand and walked rapidly in front of a blank wall, three times; a door appeared. He reached back and yanked Harry through. It closed with a bang.

Poppy glanced at Minerva who was watching in rapt attention. The memory showed that the Head of Gryffindor had remained outside the door, as if she was working out how she could get through to the room on the other side. The memory followed the wall, up and down, around and through, and then finally, it entered the room.

And what a room. A large fire blazed in a corner fireplace. In front of it was a thick, plush carpet; a bed—an enormous one—stood off to one side, hung in rich, red draperies covered with big pillows. The memory looked around the room, and then located the boys in the middle of the bed. Ron was working the final bit of Harry’s trousers down his legs to the ankles, finally pulling them off and tossing them aside carelessly. He reached down and pulled the boy up and into his arms, capturing his mouth in a passionate kiss.

It was, quite simply, the most erotic and gorgeous vision Poppy had ever seen. Both boys were slender but well developed. Harry was smaller, Ron’s long arms and body nearly covered him totally. When Ron snaked a hand down to cup Harry’s bottom, Harry groaned and ground his pelvis more deeply into Ron’s, causing Ron to groan as well. Each was now holding the other’s hips closely, clearly enjoying the contact.

Without warning, Ron pushed Harry gently to the bed, never breaking the kiss. After a long moment, he scooted down and engulfed Harry’s member fully. ( _Dear Merlin, I just saw Harry’s erection again_ she thought, her face reddening.) Harry gasped and moaned Ron’s name, his fingers carding through the red hair that was bobbing madly. Within a moment, Harry cried out and shuddered as if jolted by magic. Ron continued to suckle until Harry’s cock slipped from his lips, spent.

Harry was breathing rapidly and gasping, looking as if he was completely undone. Ron took him in his arms and nuzzled his neck, kissing him tenderly and whispering something into his ear, words that made him smile and laugh quietly. They continued for quite a while, merely enjoying being close to each other; they were so utterly. . .boyish. . .in their interaction, very different from a boy and girl together ( _or even girls together,_ the matron thought). It was very physical and filled with laughter. Harry was fighting off sleep despite trying to convince Ron to permit him to perform the same act; every time Harry deepened their kisses, he would yawn hugely.

“Come on, let me,” Harry said, giving in to yet another yawn.

“Why should I? I’d bet anything you’ll yawn just when I come,” Ron teased.

“I won’t, promise,” Harry said, but he closed his eyes and stifled another one.

Poppy thought that Ron would surely give in to find his own release, but to her gentle surprise, he refused once again. “I know you too well, mate. When you come, you sleep, and you haven’t been sleeping much; nor have I for that matter,” he countered. ”Wish Hermione had been here.”

“Me, too,” Harry yawned again. “I miss her.”

“Yeah. I hate to say this, but we need to get back to the tower before it gets too much later.”

Minerva and Poppy watched as they dressed (averting eyes politely as they did so), and left the Room after checking a large map that was covered in squiggles and little moving signs with names on them. The boys quickly made their way to Gryffindor house just before Argus Filch came around the corner on his nightly quest to catch recalcitrant students out in the hallways at night, even though it was just a few minutes after curfew.

The memory followed the boys up the stairs to the dormitory; their dorm mates were all fast asleep, or so Poppy believed, seeing the red draperies shut tightly about three of the five beds. Ron and Harry quietly undressed and crawled wordlessly into Ron’s four-poster. Harry seemed to have gained new life after the stroll through the castle, but Ron fended him off.  
“You’re tired, mate. I want you well rested for in the morning,” he teased.

Once again, Poppy thought Ron would give in, but instead, the boys settled into a spooned position. Ron lifted up once to rearrange the pillows and then shifted Harry in his arms until the mop of black hair was secured under his chin; he closed his eyes, a look of extraordinary contentment and happiness lighting his face.

It was a scene of much tender care and—dare she admit it?—loving devotion. She knew now what Minerva had been telling her: this was a relationship, born in friendship and camaraderie, that had evolved into one that would—and did—sustain them both with uncompromising strength and trust. Through the months of violence and tragedy that followed, until Harry and the Wizarding world emerged victorious, Ron and Hermione both would stay by his side, no matter the peril or fright or challenge. Poppy knew at once that Ron’s love had played a central role in Harry’s triumph. But she was also sad, knowing that the lovely Head Girl had given up something so special and truly loving in order to spend time in study. Sometimes, Poppy admitted, Hermione needed to resort her priorities.

Suddenly the door to the dormitory swung open, and in stepped the Head Girl herself, apparently on evening rounds through the dorms. Hermione looked around the room, lit wand held aloft to survey the beds. She approached Harry’s, but finding it empty, immediately went to Ron’s. She smiled when she found the two wrapped deeply in each other and sleep. Before pulling the draperies shut, she kissed Ron’s cheek and lightly touched Harry’s hand; but she looked wistful, then sad. Then, in a very un-Head Girl-like fashion, she quickly undressed, ruffled through Ron’s dresser, and slipped on a large t-shirt. She stashed her clothing under the bed and crawled in next to the slumbering Harry; the boy instinctively curled around her.

There, the memory ended. Minerva took Poppy’s hand and they emerged from the Pensieve. The women sat in the comfortable chairs, not speaking for a long while. Poppy noticed that the pitcher had just enough Cosmopolitan drink left for two short ones, and she refilled their glasses. Before she drank, she spoke:

“I understand,” she said quietly. “I never thought I would approve of such a relationship, but I understand what they mean to each other, and I thank you for showing me my error.” She lifted her glass. “To everlasting love.”

“To everlasting love,” Minerva repeated. And they drank deeply.


End file.
